


First Impressions

by ashford2ashford



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: M/M, Zine: Gunpowder & Cigarettes - Valenwind Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashford2ashford/pseuds/ashford2ashford
Summary: When they first meet, Vincent Valentine takes one hard look at Cid Highwind and makes a decision based entirely on his initial impression.He does not like the man. At all.
Relationships: Cid Highwind/Vincent Valentine
Comments: 13
Kudos: 98





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the Valenwind Zine: Gunpowder and Cigarettes.

When they first meet, Vincent Valentine takes one hard look at Cid Highwind and makes a decision based entirely on his initial impression. 

He does not like the man. At all. 

Smoke and oil smell notwithstanding, all this man can seem to do is cuss and demand that others obey him. Steely blue eyes seem to have never known the gentle heat of softer and kinder emotions, but rather can only reflect burning fire that seems to be fuelled entirely by anger. Crass and bad-tempered. Only really relaxing (and even then that infernal gaze darts suspiciously from face to face) when tea is on the line.

If fate were a kind Mistress, then Vincent knows that this meeting would have been the beginning and the end of their interactions. However, fate seems to have been having a bad day, for she has decided - in her infinite spite - to have blessed Cid Highwind with unnatural speed when it comes to his plane being stolen. 

And then Shinra shoots them down.

...and their bad luck is followed neatly by one long swim to dry land with a Highwind that seems to be building his limit break gauge from anger alone...

The day eventually ends with the current group having acquired one broken Tiny Bronco and one very irritated (and grounded) pilot. Cid curses for a solid fifteen minutes, every insult more venomous than the last, until he settles for working on salvaging what is left of his beloved plane in silence away from the group. Smoking. Pouting. Occasionally adding an additional metaphorical coin to the metaphorical swear jar. 

It's a further two days of being stranded on a very warm beach, watching Cid get up to the elbows in grease, before Cloud decides to bite the bullet and 'officially' request that they use the Bronco as a makeshift boat to get to where they want to be. Surprisingly, the beach and the inevitability of his failing to get his plane airborne once more has made Cid somewhat more amiable than he usually is. With a shrug, he claims he has nothing better to do, and knows that the entire group is certified insane for trying to go against Shinra at this juncture. Not only that, but he figures he will 'tag along' with their rag tag group, and everything within Vincent screams for Cloud to just deny such a request...but no. They could do with the help, realistically. 

And that is that.

Vincent supposes that Cid may one day show himself to be a valued member of the team, but the more they draw closer to the Forbidden Capitol, the worse he seems to get.

Stepping through the jungle, cursing and occasionally spitting to the ground, Cid complains literally every step of the way. He's still not over the initial (accidental) crash of the Tiny Bronco, and nothing on this beautiful green earth will persuade him to quit reminding them of their error every five minutes.

Pushing trees aside, stomping noisily on the ground, jabbing and gesturing with his spear as he cracks his neck and laments on his misfortune: everything about Cid Highwind is the antithesis of Vincent. He lacks the finesse, the grace and the general calming manner. Every syllable that drips from this man's mouth pushes the ex-Turk's patience to its limit. In fact, more than once Vincent finds himself pushing down Galian Beast and fighting the animalistic urge to wrench the pilot's head from his shoulders. 

Complaint after complaint. Surely everyone else wishes to see this walking nightmare buried six feet under by now?

And yet…

As much as Vincent would love to keep a mental checklist of every irritating thing that this man does (and he could), he also cannot help himself from spotting details that are completely contrary to that idea. With every curse, there is a cursory glance from side to side that speaks of someone who is actually alert, sharp blue eyes scanning the trees either side of them even as their owner threatens to turn the air blue. 

At first, Vincent is loathe to admit to himself that this foul man has anything but their best interests at heart, but once he's seen one thing, then other positives soon follow. Vincent almost damns his own sharp eyes for leading him down this self destructive path. 

At one point, Cid impatiently jabs at the foliage and fauna, seemingly in an erratic manner at first. Branches crash to the floor, leaves crunch in a sickening tearing manner, and the jungle is brought to life in a flurry of green. Other members of the group turn around and give the older male a dirty look, Vincent included. In fact, the latter even opens his mouth to give Highwind a piece of his mind...and then closes it again silently.

Upon the pull back, blood trickles from the deadly point of the spear Cid favours, and something else makes a last rasping gurgling noise as it collapses into a heap somewhere out of sight. Confused and angered glances are suddenly glossed over with the light of realisation. The pilot shrugs, wiping sweat from the underside of his goggles, and then snaps the band back into place atop his head. 

"I caught us dinner." He grates out dryly. 

No one laughs.

Vincent suspects that there is more to Cid than he would have liked to have thought. No matter how much he tries to push that thought out of his head, he begins to come around slowly. Noticing more and more as the trip goes on. 

An impatient stamp of a thick steel toed boot is revealed to be a test of a sturdy branch. The tugging of leaves and subsequent crunch into a gloved palm is a cautionary glance to check what has passed before them. Further whacks with the spear are investigated later by a curious Vincent Valentine and every single one shows a grisly reminder that Cid has been protecting them every step of the way from many poisonous or vicious beasts. 

Not for one second do these habits cease. 

A few days crawl on, steady pathways being made through the dense jungle, and Vincent finds he cannot tear his eyes away from the pilot for one second. He's finding less reasons to hate this man and he despises that part of himself. 

On the third day, Vincent feels almost justified in his dislike of the pilot, when Yuffie is harshly thrown to one side by a sudden aggressive action from the pilot. Barrett is on him in an instant. Swearing. Shoving back. Baring down on the smaller man with his gun arm at the ready. 

He doesn't like Yuffie either, he snarls, but this was too much. 

And yet, despite the sudden outburst, the conflict, the butting of heads, a counter of curses from Cid, the pilot manages to spit out that next time he will just let the girl sink, and Barret is given a reason to pause.

As are the rest of them. 

Given a chance to explain himself, Cid draws aside the creepers blocking one particular path carefully, and the softly bubbling pit is revealed to everyone else. He's not sure what it is, but he knows danger when he sees it.

Silence follows.

No one questions the pilot's behaviour after that. Not even Vincent.

Sadly, their trek through the jungle has unforeseen consequences. One morning, just as Vincent is returning from a morning's gathering, he notices that Cloud looks somewhat more morose than usual. Even Cid seems to be quietly digesting some sort of information, smoking in his own little designated area. 

Tifa has fallen ill. 

This wouldn't normally have posed a problem for them, but they are literally days away from any encampment that isn't their own and none of them are that kind of healer. There is only so far materia can get you when it comes to the matter of healing and curing, and this seems more akin to a natural jungle fever than any spell effect or poison. Cait Sith recommends hunkering down and waiting it out. 

As much as they could press on, there have been no recent signs of the apocalypse thus far, and they all could probably do with a few days recouping. The vote is unanimous: they're staying put.

They've done the best they can do; the rest is up to Tifa.

For the first two days, the group settles into a routine of hunting, gathering, sheltering their ill companion. Vincent finds himself more restless than he could have ever imagined by the almost monotonous day time, and therefore explores the surrounding area by night. The beasts within him growl and chatter. Impatient. Hungry. Wanting to free themselves from the confines of his mind and wreak havoc on all things living.

Not wanting to be a danger, Vincent retreats to a small cliff side a few paces away from their makeshift camp. By night, he sits on the rocks there and polishes his gun, staring up at the sky and trying to meditate. Trying to calm his inner chaos. 

For two days, he hunts and he patrols; for two nights he sits alone and muses on all matters in the world.

It is on the third night that the routine changes. 

When Vincent goes to his usual spot this time, he finds he has company in the form of none other than Cid Highwind. Not complaining for once. Rather sitting there under a sky full to the brim with stars and smoking. Humming a tune that Vincent does not recognise.

Every instinct in his body urges Vincent to turn around and go right back to the camp. Voices that growl and snap tell him to push the old man right off the damn cliff already. 

It is this juxtaposition of thoughts and feelings that cause him to hesitate from making any move long enough for Cid to have noticed him standing there. 

"Oi. Valentine. What're you lurking in the shadows for?" It's certainly not the worst thing the blond could have come out with, but Vincent finds himself bristling a little at the suggestion.

"I'm not lurking." Vincent lets out a long suffering breath and starts to turn away from the area. 

He's stopped, however, by a sudden: "Hey." 

Cid is standing when Vincent glances back, an almost apologetic look on his face. Perhaps the past few days have been as bad for him as they have been for everyone else? In fact, it almost looks like he could do with the company, one hand reaching out as though he was intending on stopping Vincent with it but never quite got there. 

There is an uncomfortable silence and then Cid shrugs a little, motioning the taller male to come over. "Sorry. I was only jokin', yanno? I guess we've all been on edge. Worryin' 'bout that lass."

It makes sense. They've all been worried. Vincent admits that much and allows himself to pause in his gait for a moment. 

Strangely, he knows instinctively that Cid would continue on regardless. If given even a breath, he would let his thoughts be known to whomever asked (or didn't ask). 

"...You don't have to go. In fact...I was kinda wanting some quiet company." There's that sheepish tone. Almost like there is something that Cid is avoiding bringing up. For a whole second. 

Then he motions behind him.

"Barrett...the big guy...he's a little wound up. Thought I'd get out of his hair for a few. He seems real close to Tifa. It's...it's stressful ain't it?" Looking back out at their surroundings, Cid sighs softly. It's a long suffering drawn out sigh that reminds the ex-Turk of someone who has the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Over the past few days, this man has grown on the team, has been an invaluable member of their happy little planet-saving party.

Vincent steps forward. Makes the move. Now or never. 

A dirty packet of cigarettes is thrust in his direction as he does so. Vincent hesitates. A trap? A trick? His eyes search Cid's face for any signs of either. 

Nothing. 

Cid is not looking at him, but he is aware he's there. The gesture is somewhat earnest. Almost like a sign of trust given how addicted he is to these things. 

With one hand, Vincent pushes the pack back to him. 

Blue eyes flash fierce for a second, questioning the refusal of such a gift, but soften upon seeing the slight smile on Vincent's lips. 

"You need those more than I."

Cid returns the slight upturn of the mouth and chuckles. Smoke curls around his head, blown out through his teeth with the light laughter. "Yeah. Yeah I guess you got that right."

Sitting down, perching on the rocks lightly, Vincent stares upwards, fascinated by the dancing and flickering lights above in the sky. He's aware of Cid doing the same.

For what feels like hours, the pair sit there, silence falling comfortably between them. The only sound is the occasional sharp inhale and the long drawn out exhale that follows every drag of the cigarette. 

It is only when Galian Beast starts pricking its ears that Vincent registers a sound that is both familiar and yet unheard until this very evening.

Cid is humming again.

A song that Vincent has not heard before. 

Interested, curious, he turns and gazes up at the pilot. Cid's eyes are moving as he observes the stars, head nodding slightly and moving to a pattern that only he can see. Vincent tries to follow that glance, but finds himself frowning. 

He's never been one for astrology, but it makes sense that Cid, being the sort of man he is, would actually know a thing or two about the patterns of the stars. Not only that, but it stands to reason that he would be interested in that sort of thing too. 

At first, Vincent contemplates continuing the silence, but his own curiosity starts to burn within him - as does his interest in this man (and, oh, how that thought is almost frightening to him). Lightly, he clears his throat. 

"That song...I've...I've never heard it before." The ex-Turk murmurs. At first, it's unclear if he has been heard - what if his voice had been too quiet? - but then Cid ceases his soft song and turns to actually glance in Vincent's direction. 

He gives an affirming grunt, showing that he has at least acknowledged the statement. His voice is almost soft when it leaves him, "...yeah. Not many people have. It's probably older than anyone left alive today."

The question that Vincent didn't ask has already been answered, but Cid actually continues. Unexpectedly. 

"It's called 'The Lullaby of the Blue Dragon' by those who know it." Cid's voice takes on a soft growl, almost a purr. "I dunno what the real name is. Even if I did, I couldn't pronounce it. Real name is in a language that no one can really speak." 

One gloved hand stretches upwards to point at the sky, at a small cluster of stars. Vincent follows that motion and tries to see what Cid can see, squinting and frowning a little. As though he is almost sensing that slight confusion, Cid chuckles to himself and starts to point in a more deliberate manner, this time guiding Vincent's eyeline. "From that great big star there. Right down to here. That's the dragon's head and neck. This little pattern here is the claw reaching out. This little cluster next to it is known as the bard - the man who soothed the dragon with his song. It was a good story if I remember it correctly."

Cid's response is so full of raw emotion that, for a moment, Vincent has to lower his gaze back to him and blink to make sure that it is still the same man sat next to him. The same Cid Highwind who complains and constantly belly-aches about every little thing; the crude pilot who spits and smokes and snarls like some kind of brutish creature. 

It's still him. 

Only this time, Vincent sees that there is a humanity there that was not so before. A patience brought on by the circumstances and the fall of night. A watchful, careful, deliberate air to each movement and motion. From the way Cid gazes upwards at the sky with a passion that surprises Vincent, right down to the way he slowly inhales and exhales as he smokes, relaxed and almost serene. 

Gone is the bitterness and almost breathless rage that seems to consume those waking hours. Far away is that impatience and harshness that the light brings to Cid. 

It's like he's seeing this man for the first time. Again.

When he finds his words once more, they stick in his throat, foreign and unusual in this time and place, "You...seem to know a lot about the stars, Captain. More than I ever could imagine."

"Heh. Yeah. I mean, they are my life after all. My dream." There is a genuine sense of humour that seems to come from the way Cid cocks his head at Vincent to respond, a slight smile that curls from the other's lips around the cigarette, the slight crow's feet that wrinkle at the sides of both eyes. These signs tell Vincent that Cid has the potential to laugh and to dream - has probably done so in the past and has stopped doing so as much in the present. 

When Cid talks about the stars, Vincent sees the youth return to his face, watches the years fall off him and observes the passion that seems to dictate every motion following this. He continues without prompting. "I'm gonna be up there one day. Not just in the sky, but among those stars, in life or in death. I belong there. Hell, dreamed about it so damn long. Would be a shame not to go there in the end."

Removing his eyes from the pilot (since when had he ever stared at anyone for that long?) Vincent looks back up at the patterns that form in the sky and sees the Dragon and the bard once more, pictures them in his mind's eye, and imagines the stories that they have to tell. Another bright star catches his keen eye, surrounded by a smattering of little ones. "What star is that?"

This time, Cid leans down low, almost getting closer to Vincent than he has ever so so in his life, and hums deeply in his throat. Vincent is almost startled by this strange and new experience. Unused to this more gentle side of Cid that seems willing to teach and explain rather than berate. 

"Oh that? Good eye. That's the Ancient Archer." It is all Vincent can do to remain listening, what with Cid suddenly being so amiable and gentle, but he manages to catch the explanation, "You see the line past it? That big star is the arrow tip. This part here is the shaft of the arrow. Then you can see the curve of the bow. She's a pretty hot shit sign around these parts. They say that if you're ever lost, her bow will always be pointing towards the most Northern point, and she will guide you home."

Now Vincent is interested in these patterns and shapes. The way Cid speaks is almost rhythmic, like he's said these words over and over again in his lifetime, and he seems like he is the most learned on this subject. In this moment, Vincent finds that he yearns to know more.

"What about that one?" The gunman tries to keep the eagerness from his voice, his clawed fingers motioning to the largest star he can find in the sky. Following his gaze, Cid hums - a low and thoughtful growl - and then leans back, smiling. 

By the time he comes to explain, he's almost grinning. "That one? That's part of the Great Wyrm. His beady ol' eye. You never heard of it before?"

Shaking his head, Vincent finds his cheeks flush with embarrassment, murmuring into his cloak, "I...no. I mean, I have seen the same stars, certainly, but I am no astrologer. I know their light, but not what they mean."

At that, Cid gives yet another low chuckle and Vincent cannot help but think that this man looks years younger when he smiles. In fact, when he dares look closer, Vincent can no longer see the slight worry lines at the side of Cid's eyes. 

"As poetic as ever, huh? Man. If I had the words, I'd tell ya exactly what it means, but as it stands, I can only tell ya what my ol' gran'pappy used to say about 'em." Vincent finds it almost endearing the way the blond eagerly gazes upwards at those stars, as though he is seeing through the entire universe when he does so. Cid takes a drag of his cigarette and blows a smoke ring as though attempting to frame the very star they are discussing. "Well, the old man was crazy, but he could always spin you a yarn about that star. 'The dragon's eye' he used to say 'was once the eye of the Great Wyrm. The patron deity of the Dragoons. In life it used to roam the skies at night, twistin' in an' out of the clouds. The Dragoons said it always led to war, but would also lead to peace."

Pausing only to take a further drag on his cigarette, the pilot continues, eyes locked skyward. "Then, when the War came, the war to end all of the dragoon and the wyrms they served with body and soul, they spoke of the final roar of the Great Wyrm. With its last dying breath, it transformed itself into glittering stars, with the largest star - its third eye - hanging in the Eastern skies for all eternity. Even in death, the Great Wyrm will always remind those it left behind that the sun will always rise after the storm. Heh. Kinda sounds almost typical of those old stories, don't it?" 

For once, Vincent knows not what to say to that.

Instead, he finds himself lingering on the sight of Cid Highwind locking eyes with the Great Wyrm as though seeing it stretching out across the night sky before him. He recalls that rhythmic breathing, the low and almost haunting voice as Cid recalled a tale that was older than either of the two sat atop that ridge. The scent of cigarette smoke is nowhere near as overpowering as it used to be, curling around the other male's head as though part of his breath, his life, and reminding Vincent of the great War of the past. 

In that moment, Cid is older than the hills and twice as wise.

Vincent finds it hard to look away.

And then...Cid turns and laughs loudly. Grinning from ear to ear. Illusion broken. Shattered. Scattered across the night sky. 

"Man. Where do they come up with this crap? No wonder people thought the old man was senile in his old age! Great Wyrm. Dragoons. Heh. Old crap that no one really believes in anymore." If Vincent were truly listening correctly (and he is), he swears he almost hears a lack of sincerity in Highwind's voice. Almost like the only one he doesn't believe is himself. 

Behind that humour, there is bitterness; within happiness, there is sorrow. Vincent realises in the darkness of the night - with the rest of the group behind them, Tifa lay recovering in the tent, alone with this grizzled pilot and gazing at stars - that Cid Highwind is a man who is complicated in his thoughts and feelings. 

He can be brutal, almost overbearing, at times, but can equally show himself to be so genuine and so caring. Vincent finds that he is almost eager to learn more, to know what makes a man like Cid abandon everything to come on this almost suicide mission to save the planet from Sephiroth.

"Hey, I'm gonna head to bed. I think my watch is almost up. Don't stay here too long, Valentine." Patting the other man on the shoulder, Cid gets to his feet, groaning and grumbling and complaining, almost like the spell is broken and he has returned to his previous self. Vincent watches him leave, observes the casual way that the pilot waves in Barrett's general direction as he returns to camp.

Once the night is once more silent, Vincent turns back to the dragon and the bard, to the archer, to the Great Wyrm, and smiles softly to himself. Now alone with the stars and the stories that come with them, he finds that his demons are not as talkative as they were before, both he and them placated and satisfied with the night's learning.

In the end, as he follows the line of the Great Wyrm to the gentle light of the rising sun, Vincent is glad that he gave Cid the benefit of making a second impression.


End file.
